Trolling the obits

Reading the semi-annual newsletter from my high school wouldn't be complete without spending a moment with the page of those alums who've died. I quickly scan the early years and always slow down when I get to my own. Most of the time, it's empty, another brush with my own mortality that I've survived.

But last week, there was a name that stopped me cold. I had liked this man when he was young and we were all foolish in chem lab and sarcastic in English. I'd caught glimpses of his career through the newsletter and was pleased to see he was a lawyer with an impressive career. I wasn't surprised. I'd known he'd do well.

So what was his name doing in the good-bye column?

There was only a date of death, so I googled him and the date and came up with his obituary. He died in a teaching hospital at the other end of the state, and although no cause of death was given, I'd imagine cancer. I found the funeral home site and the link to leave condolences, albeit mine would now be three months late.

But first, I needed to read what others had said, and it quickly became obvious from people who knew the grown-up man that he had lived up to the promise of his youth. It was satisfying; would that people could be so kind to me. And then, after reading the comments from strangers, I started seeing the names of people I'd known in high school and that I had not heard from in over 30 years.

Their names, their addresses, their emails.

So I wrote to one, a woman I'd known since kindergarten, but with my mother dead for many years and my dad out of the loop, I had no way to easily find out about her any more. She answered several days later, as busy as I'd remembered her, just a short acknowledgment. I don't know what I'd expected, but it was more than that.

Oh, well. At least I knew the deceased was the man I thought him to be and there is definite comfort in that.

And, yes, I signed the book.